


here's a quarter call someone who cares

by dancetothisbeat



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, and 2006 i guess, its pretty much him banting on interviews, y'know how ryan hated doing interviews back in 2005?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-30 03:06:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10152023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancetothisbeat/pseuds/dancetothisbeat
Summary: interviews.he hated them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i was really emo after a party and was inspired by 2006 ryan ross.
> 
> also i hope it's easy to understand as no one's refered to by name.

It’s not that he hated interviews, it’s that he hated participating in them.

 

He hated how not genuine it all felt and how the interviewer really didn’t care at all about them or the questions they are asking and how the interviewer was probably asked and offered money to do it, granted so were the band, so in that part it made them equals. Although him using the term equals made him feel like he was also a soulless human, which he wasn’t, he just hated being asked trivial things.

 

“What inspired you to make music?” “What’s the highlight of your career?” “How do you decide on what songs to use for the album and which ones you don’t?”

 

He’s answered all of them, and after the first few times he just decided to let another band member answer them for him, because it’s not like the interviewer wants his specific input, they and the fans mostly care for the singer, because why is the guitarist the most important? They aren’t. So he lets his singer answer them while he nods off, because living on 6 hours of sleep isn’t the most healthy thing, especially when you stand on a hot stage for up to three hours a night while on tour, and adding interviews and press shoots on top of that makes him feel sick.

 

Early on in the band interviews were fun, he guesses, because they weren’t well known so all the information available about them was basically nonexistent. Where the band name came from, why the lineup change, how they came to be. Those were fun to answer, because it provides history about them, them as people, them as a band. Once they signed, once they released the record and made a name for themselves, that’s when the fun quickly dissipated.

 

He chuckles a bit, remembering the early interview where the girl asked about their favorite cookies, because that is a thing people are _dying_ to know about them. At least he didn’t answer with ‘chocolate chip’, because people would have _definitely_ started riots over him preferring oatmeal raisin over snickerdoodle. God forbid if he’d have said ‘chocolate chip’. He’d be long dead by now.

 

It always amazes him how confident artists seem in their interviews. How they over inflate their personalities to entertain the audience because in the long run, fans would be watching to laugh, to smile, and if they learn a bit of band history, why wouldn’t it be a good idea? Feeling like you actually know the person behind the screen and not seeing them as some blank slate who only performs and sings.

 

He picks at the inner fabric of his hoodie, soft purple cotton that’s only purpose was to keep him warm. He’s waiting to be called for another interview, the rest of his band scattered around the small backstage dressing room. He told himself that this interview was worth it somehow, because they ‘had to sell tour tickets’ or ‘had to promote themselves to win the awards’ or whatever. He personally didn’t care if one person went to the show or if it sold out. At least there was someone there to support and who connected with the music.

 

He gave a sideways glance to the singer of their band, him with his white suit jacket and blocky red glasses with the bangs semi covering his right eye. The singer looked back at him, smiling with his toothy grin and going back to texting on his Sidekick. His drummer looked at him cautiously, as if trying to find a weakness in him. He smirked at his drummer, trying to reaffirm that there was nothing going between him and his singer (even though he _fully_   understands that the drummer knows, he just wants to keep _some_ dignity.) The bassist sighs, playing with a loose fabric on the couch he’s sitting on. It’s funny to him. Usually the drummer’s the one losing his patience and complaining that he wants to go home. As the baby of the group, the drummer gets let off easily, at only 19, fresh out of high school and already knees deep in the water of success.

 

The singer’s also the baby too, he realizes. Also 19, fresh into the world, getting excited when he was shown his bunk on the tour bus and looking forward to his fifth cup of microwavable ramen of the week. He never understood why the singer enjoyed that ramen so much. The rest of the band hated it. The bassist always praised whenever they got something other than ramen. The singer just shrugs and says he was told to ‘eat pasta to preserve his voice’  and sticks his fork back in the cup and resumes eating.

 

He was a bit tired of the ramen by now, but it beat all the strawberry pop tarts they ate while recording the album. One for breakfast, skipping lunch to save on money, and one for dinner. He smiles, remembers when the drummer’s mom came by to give them cake for the drummer’s birthday (and partly his since his was three days prior) and how they savored it and rationed it to make the eight inch round cake last as much as it could because _none_ of them wanted to resume eating pop tarts. It wasn’t that they grew to hate pop tarts, it’s that they grew to hate _strawberry_ pop tarts.

 

The drummer sees him deep in thought, and being concerned, starts talking about how the interview was going to go smoothly, how there was nothing to be angry at, how all the interview is about is answering easy questions for 10 minutes and leaving. He just tells the drummer that, yes, he understands that interviews are easy to do, but how in the end they were pointless cash grabs for both the record label and the interviewer. The drummer sighs, letting the subject go, and proceeds to rant to the bassist on why wait times are long.

 

He smiles, in a way he and the drummer are alike, stubborn but easy to convince. No wonder they met up at the age of five and continued to be friends when they were in their late teens. The singer, instead of adding on to the wait times rant, looks at him, asking if he would take the lead in the interview this time, a big smile on his face and eyes lit up with admiration towards him. He doesn’t know how he deserves it. But he says yes, gives the other a sight smile and runs his hand through the other’s hair, before hearing the words that he always knew were coming but still hated to hear anyways.

 

“ _We’ll be on air in five minutes. Please report to the set as soon as possible_.”

**Author's Note:**

> woah. first fic aside, hope it lived up to whatever you expected. t'would make me happy.


End file.
